


Symptoms

by Gaia_bing



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Body Horror, Eventual Happy Ending, Horror, I promise, M/M, Metamorphosis, Not Captain America: The First Avenger Compliant, POV First Person, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-31
Updated: 2018-10-31
Packaged: 2019-07-25 07:01:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 5,829
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16192502
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gaia_bing/pseuds/Gaia_bing
Summary: /ˈsim(p)təmz/Noun.A physical or mental feature that is regarded as indicating a condition of disease, particularly such a feature that is apparent to the patient.





	1. Intro

**Author's Note:**

> Another Halloo-weeny fic by me! Since we're 100% in October now, I wanted to so something completely horror-themed. It might get a little bit squicky in some parts, since this story is supposed to followed like a horror movie, but don't you worry, the protagonist of this little diddy *is* going to get his happy ending, even if I make him suffer a little bit (or a lot, depending on how you see it) before he gets to it. 
> 
> Anyways, enough chit-chatting from me, hope you guys enjoy! :)

_**June 25th, 1943.**_

  
Dear diary,

  
I know calling you this way makes me seem like a 12-year old writing inside his or her journal for the very first time, but I didn't know what else to name you.

  
Because quite frankly, there's no one and nothing else that I can talk (or should I say, write) to about this particular subject than a bunch of blank paper.

  
It's been three days since the experiment, since I was supposed to say goodbye to my weak and frail existence and begin a much stronger and much healthier one.

  
I can safely say that right now, Dr. Erskine's promises to me were delivered...

  
Well, half of them, really.

  
Because right now, I'm definitely faster than the average man and I no longer look like the scrawny kid that I was back when I was arguing with my best friend Bucky about going to war.

  
But,

  
As far as my health is going...

  
I'm not quite sure those promises were quite delivered on _that_ one.


	2. Cold

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Or Poikilotherm:
> 
> A poikilotherm is an animal whose internal temperature varies considerably. It is the opposite of a homeotherm, an animal which maintains thermal homeostasis. While the term in principle can apply to all organisms, it is generally only applied to animals, and mostly to vertebrates.

_**June 25th, 1943. (Continued)** _

  
For the past three days and for the life of me I do not know why, I've been non-stop shivering.

  
It began the moment I stepped out of the machine, the same one that was supposed to make me a super-human with no weaknesses whatsoever

  
This particular matter is particularly worrying when like me, you have a history of teeth clacking and limbs shaking as being the first sign of an upcoming grave illness.

  
And for the same amount of days, I have tried everything that I could think of to get myself warmer.

  
Things like:

  
\- Wearing sweaters underneath other sweaters,

  
\- Sleeping under at least five thick wool-made bed sheets,

  
\- Eating food and drinking beverages almost the second they come out of the oven and are boiled,

  
\- Taking long, boiling hot baths and steam-filled showers.

  
But nothing has stuck,

  
And _god_ do I feel sleepy.

  
Is this _it_ , dear diary?

  
Is it only a matter of hours before my good old friend, Mrs. Pneumonia, comes to pay me a visit, along with her best friend Mr. Death and I'm going to have to finally go along with them after so many previous rain checks?

 

Is this the end for me, just when I thought it was only the beginning?

 

***************

 

_**June 26th, 1943** **.** _

  
Dead diary,

  
I have no idea how this happened, but this afternoon, I found the solution to what I thought was a life-threatening problem.

  
Or should I say, the solution _shone_ upon me.

  
Since it'd been raining non-stop for the past four days and the sun was finally out, I decided to take a stroll outside to clear my head and get my legs going again, since being cooped up and in bed all day really doesn't help the morale and the ailing physique.

  
And the moment I opened the door and I felt the first few rays lit my face, my shivering...

  
**Lessened**.

  
And, after a few minutes, what had been haunting me for the past few days just...

  
**Stopped**.

  
I have no idea what caused me to shake like a leaf one moment and why something as simple as an hours sitting outside basking into the rays of sunshine made everything cease the next, but right now I honestly don't care.

  
I can write without making almost ruining the page every three words or so because I shake too much, which is a miracle all by itself.

  
And I don't expect death to be coming any minute now.

  
Now, if only I could stop sweating buckets like I'm doing right this second, even after gulping an entire pitcher of iced water, then everything would be absolutely peachy keen.


	3. Vibration

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a periodic motion about an equilibrium position, such as the regular displacement of air in the propagation of sound.

_**July 2nd, 1943.** _

  
Dear diary,

  
'Sorry I haven't shared my thoughts with you for the last couple of weeks, but I'm just so busy these days that it's almost impossible to get two minutes all to myself, even more so an entire evening, which I thankfully have tonight, hence forth why I have time right now.

  
I have a job! Can you believe it? I'm doing an USO tour and I'm encouraging everyone that I encounter to buy bonds and I help the morale of the troops all over the US. Right now we're in Minnesota, where I got done with a show just now. Tomorrow we're heading out to California and we're supposed to get there by the end of the week or so.

  
It's hard work I will admit, they put me a silly wool costume and my stage name is _Captain America_ , but I quite like what I do and as long as I can help my country however I can in the condition that I am, then you will get no complaints from me.

 

Speaking (or writing) of my condition, I think I may have finally gotten the upper-hand over my body temperature.

  
Yes, my problem all this time was my blood heat, can you believe it? And do you know how I found this out? By stepping out into the cool night air and finally stop sweating bullets like I'd done so ever since I had settled my previous shivering problem.

  
I want to talk to Dr. Erskine about this particular matter, but ever since the experiment I haven't been able to contact him. But I understand, he's a busy man and he probably doesn't have the time to worry about little, or should I say now, _big_   'ole me at the moment.

  
I believe that as long an I soak up as much sun as I can when I'm cold and I get into a cooler environment when I get too hot, then I will be fine.

  
But I have to admit, life on the road does get pretty lonely. Sure, the crew that I travel with and the girls that I do my shows with are all very nice and very welcoming people, but for some reason I haven't made any kind of connection with them, other than a professional one.

  
It's time like these that I miss New York and most of all, I miss Bucky.

  
I wonder how's he doing these days? Does he feel as lonely as I feel all the way across the ocean? Has he made any new friends since he's joined the war? As he even...made a new girlfriend along the way? Not that I'd mind if he has, of course. I mean, anyone would be absolutely blind not to see what he can offer: smarts, humor, ingenuity, sincerity, kindness off the wazoo, ~~sparkling brown eyes that you want to get lost into, gorgeously coiffed hair that you just want to mess up with you fingers while you... and he...~~

  
I mean, that guy is such a charmer that he can make anyone....any _woman_ fall under his spell with just a wink and a grin.

  
I just hope that, after he's done so, he doesn't  _entirely_ forget about me.

  
**************

  
_**July 7th, 1943.** _

  
Alright, something happened tonight and I am sort of freaking out.

  
I was in Fort Ord, doing my usual song and dance routine. Everything was going well and just as planned when,

  
Now, I have no idea what it was that did this, but I suddenly felt something begin to vibrate inside my lower jaw, then go all the way up to the center of my eardrums, to finally settle in the center of my brain to give me the headache of a lifetime.

  
And for about a minute or so, I couldn't hear anything: the music, the audience or the other people onstage along with me...

  
Just the pulsing of the blood flowing to my head and that damn vibrating sound that just came out of nowhere.

  
I just let the girls to their thing and left. I just couldn't focus enough to finish my performance, no matter how hard I tried.

  
What in the world was _that_ out there? And what in the world did that?

  
I think...I think that it was the tapping of the dancers' shoes that caused this, now that I think about it.

  
But then again, why in the world would I feel so attacked by the sound of a shoe? We've done that particular part of the show at least a dozen times before tonight and this kind of thing has never happened before.

  
Right now I feel a bit better, after the following wave of nausea passed of course.

  
But my head is still pounding a bit and I'm sitting here, in my dressing room still wearing my woolly costume and I'm starting to wonder to myself:

  
A super-human body I was expecting, a difference in body temperature I thought was just a slight side effect...

  
But a splitting headache and a momentary loss of hearing because of the sound of a garment meant for a feet on a floor made of wood ?

  
What in the world _is_ happening to me?


	4. Peggy (or Interlude 1)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve finds an ally.

_**July 20th, 1943.** _

  
Dear diary,

  
My hearing problems have only gotten worse since the last two weeks.

  
I tried to do the show, I really, _really_  tried...

  
But it's not just the dancers' shoes on a hardwood floor that are giving me headache and it,s not just during the show that it happens...

  
It's almost everything now.

  
It's almost all the time now.

  
It's the drums and the trumpets and the violins...

  
It's the singing and the dancing and even my own two left feet now...

  
It's the birds and the dogs and the wind and the rain...

  
It's everyone walking and everyone talking and almost every damn noise almost every damn where because this damn world just can't keep its damn mouth shut and god.....

  
Everything that surrounds me feel like they're attacking me, splitting my skull in half over and over and over again...

  
And during that time, I just can't hear anything. And it's now longer than just a few moments, it lasts minutes after eternal minutes after eternal minutes....

  
Lasting until I'm all alone, with no one or nothing that lets out a single vibration into the air.

  
What am I supposed to do?

  
Shut myself out? Spend the rest of my life inside a noise-proof room because I can't tolerate anything?

  
And let's say I don't do that...then what?

  
Do I quit the tour?

  
But if I quit the tour when it's only just begun, what are people going to say? What purpose is Captain America supposed to have if he's not out there encouraging those who're giving up their lives to do what's right?

  
And we're supposed to be travelling to Europe next month on top of everything...

  
If I leave now, I might miss my only chance to see Bucky again.

  
And if I leave now, everyone's going to be so disappointed and if there's something I absolutely hate to do, it's letting people down.

  
So I guess...I guess I'll just have to bare it.

  
Grind my teeth together, plant my foot even deeper into the ground and do like I'm supposed to do,

  
Like Captain America would do:

  
Work through the pain to deliver the grand message of the good 'ole USA.

  
If only there was someone I could talk to about all of this besides a bunch of blank papers.

  
*************

  
**_August 2nd, 1943._ **

  
Dear diary,

  
We've finally touched ground in the grand continent of Europe and I can finally say that a great weight has been lifted off my shoulders.

  
Because I've finally found someone that I can confide in about what is happening to me:

  
Peggy Carter.

  
She was there when I received the serum and was working with a battalion while I was still back overseas, so when she heard that I was about to come here she invited me for some coffee and a chat.

  
Her smile crumbled when she saw what she described as _"the pure face of misery"_.

  
And so I broke down and told her everything that happened to me:

  
How I have to sleep in iced-baths when the nights get too hot,

  
How I fell asleep during my flight and had to be slapped pretty hard across the face to get woken up because there was no sun at all that appeared between the time it took me to get from the US to where I was sitting now.

  
How about, even though it's gotten a little bit better, I still wanna pass out when I'm in the middle of a packed street because the vibrations of everything and everyone around me are just too much for me.

  
And, my own hopes crumbled when she said that she hadn't heard or seen Dr. Erskine ever since the day of the operation. And it wasn't that she didn't try, on the contrary...

  
But when she called the phone number he'd given her for a follow-up on the super serum and what they could do with it, there was nothing on the other emd of the line and when she went to his home address, it was like he'd never lived there.

  
And so, here I am back at square one. Without a clue of what is happening to me and with no solution at hand.

  
But at least Peggy promised to be there for me however she could, which is quite nice. And she looked quite gorgeous in the green dress that she was wearing.

  
And she smelled really good too, now that I think about it.

  
Smelled great and looked great...

  
She must be really delicious too, now that I _really_ think about it. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The more squicky stuff begins...next chapter! :)


	5. Tooth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a hard, pointed structure in invertebrate animals, typically functioning in the mechanical breakdown of food.

**_August 6th, 1943._ **

  
Dear diary,

  
I haven't come out of my room in over four days.

  
The reason is that I can't come out of my room....

  
Not after what I thought and even wrote down.

  
I...I...

  
I described Peggy Carter as delicious.

  
No, even worse than that, I described a _human being_ as delicious.

  
What...what in the world is _wrong_ with me?

  
Since when did human meat seem so appealing to me?

  
And since when could I go four days without ingesting anything and the only after-effect is a grumbling stomach?

  
Oh, yeah, I forgot to mention that particular fact.

  
It seems like I have yet another problem that I have to contend with, as if I had nothing else to be perturbed about.

  
Like the passing smell of the other hostel guests passing by the hallway of my room, that lingers long after they're gone and that is as delectable to the nose as the one that I used to salivate over whenever my mom would do her famous hog-on-a-spit recipe.

  
And the wondering if they're as rich and juicy as a well-done steak or as tender and succulent as a chicken breast.

  
_God_   I need to eat something.

  
*************

  
**_August 6th, 1943._ **

  
Dear diary,

  
Well, the good news is that I have finally put something in my poor mouth and my crying stomach.

  
The bad news is that it almost instantly came right back out.

  
Peggy, poor, poor, attentive Peggy, left a tray just outside my room after I begged her not to come in. I didn't want her to see me in the state that I'm in right now and I didn't want to suffer through _yet_ another round of perplexing thoughts.

  
She left me a bowlful of fruits and some vegetables to, and I quote, _"get me back on my feet"_ , as well as some much-needed water.

  
And while the water was digested just fine,

  
The solid products however...

  
Set me on a date face-first with Mr. Bathroom.

  
So, I guess now on top of everything,

  
I also cannot eat any green produces anymore.

  
And, as I stand there with sweat pouring down my forehead, trying to catch my breath as I'm putting down my thoughts,

  
I've just noticed something strange...

 

 

 

 

 

Is it normal that I'm staring at three of my teeth floating inside the toilet just now?

  
**************

  
**_August 7th, 1943._ **

 

One by one they fall and fall.

  
Two this morning, four this afternoon and another one just now.

  
I looked into the mirror to see the damages,

  
There were none, no blood

  
no fuss, no muss.

  
It's as if I never had them,

  
As if I was always destined to have multiple rows of teeth inside my mouth.

 

Yes, because what is slowly replacing my former normal denture is something...

 

Indescribable.

 

Rows after rows of small, sharp and pointy things are staring right back at me.

  
Oops! Another one just grew right there!

  
How joyful!

 

 

 

 

Lord, help me.

  
**************

  
**_August 9th, 1943._ **

  
I finally did it,

  
No more empty stomach.

  
In the middle of the night, while everyone was sleeping and far away from me,

  
I quietly took a trek out of the hostel and out to the nearby woods.

  
There, I could do do it,

  
There, I could do what I've been dying to do for almost a week:

  
I ate.

  
I ate everything that I could get my hands on...

  
Squirrels,

  
Rats,

  
Shrews,

  
Even a hare.

  
I devoured them all.

  
Opened my entirely very toothy-mouth as far as I could, which is pretty wide I quickly found out,

  
And one by one I swallowed them, without chewing.

  
My mom would have a fit if she saw so much bad manners.

  
But I don't care,

  
At least I'm no longer hungry.


	6. Nails (or Interlude 2)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Worries, old and new.

_**August 10th, 1943**_.

  
So Peggy came by this morning and I finally let her in, what with me being satiated enough not to think of her as my next lunch and as just a great friend...

  
At least, for now.

  
I...I actually had to lie to her this time around. I told her that it was all the green goodness that she'd brought that made me look _"so glowy and happy"_ and not the half-dozen rodents that I had gobbled up the night before.

  
I didn't want her to be afraid of me...I don't want her to be afraid of me.

  
I don't want _anyone_ to be afraid of me.

 

Oh, god. What is everyone going to think of me?

  
It's clear that I can't do the show anymore, since I've missed so many dates now that the producers must have already began rehearsals with an understudy that they've probably found somewhere just waiting for their shot.

  
And Jesus. What is _Bucky_ going to think of me?

  
If he ever sees me like this, if he knows what I crave for nowadays...

  
Is he going to be scared of me?

  
Will he never want to do anything with me ever again, just when I'm beginning to realize that I want to do... more with him than in in the past?

  
Am I going to lose my best friend because of something I intentionally had done to me, not knowing it would bring all these stupid complications?

  
Because if I had known, _lord_ if I had known....I would have told Erskine to take his damn serum and stick its needle where the sun doesn't shine.

  
But, no matter how much hindsight I have now and no matter how much I want to go back in time and change my current situation...

  
I know that I just can't.

 

I have to live with my decisions,

  
I have to live with their consequences,

  
And most of all, I have to live with the fact that I've become some sharp-teeth, carnivorous super-human freak.

  
...I wonder what kind of wages the circus would pay for my services...

  
**************

 

_**August 15th, 1943.** _

 

CANNOT GRASP PEN PROPERLY TO WRITE

 

 

NAILS FELL OFF RIGHT HAND IN MORNING

 

  
THREE LARGER AND POINTIER NAILS JUST PUSHED OUT

 

 

WILL FOLLOW UP LATER

 

  
PS  :  THAT ONE PART _DID_   HURT

 

  
A **_LOT_**

 

*********************

  
**_August 19th, 1943._ **

  
Well, guess who has finally found a way to write again?

  
And who knew claws could make some good substitutes for pens when you fill them with ink?

  
Oh yeah, I have claws instead of finger nails now.

  
They're actually sort of neat, now that the process of actually _getting_  them is over.

  
Lord was _that_ not a pleasurable experience...

  
Seeing yet another humanly part of you just fall away like it was nothing,

  
Only to be replaced by the pain of what felt like a two-inch long needle suddenly popping out of your skin,

  
Repeating over and over again for each tip.

  
...And here I thought the prickling sensation of my brand new teeth suddenly coming out was an unpleasant moment,

  
This one...this one truly takes the cake...

  
But, as I can now prove, they're turning out to be quite useful, working like some sort of feather pen from the 1700's.

  
And they're pretty neat when it comes time to hunting too. But instead of being filled of ink like the one on my index finger is right now, they're filled with some sort of substance that when I slash away at what I wanna eat, they just stop moving and they're easier to catch than before.

  
See? Pretty neat if you ask me.

  
I could really get used to this recent development. 


	7. Skin

**_September 2nd, 1943._ **

  
Something...  _strange_ is starting to happen to me.

 

On top of everything, the different temperatures, the vibrations, my cravings, my teeth and more recently my nails,

 

Now its my own skin that's been bugging me for the past couple of days,

 

Ever since the last time that I ate.

 

  
And it's not that it hurts, like the last two incidents that suddenly happened to my body did,

 

  
It just...

 

  
_Itches._

 

  
I've had this happen over the last few months, momentary instances when all I had to do was scratch a small patch here and there and I'd be fine soon after,

 

But now...

 

  
Even if I do that, it just doesn't stop.

 

  
Even with my longer, stronger nails,

 

It doesn't stop.

 

  
And it's not just here and there anymore,

 

It's _everywhere_.

 

And it's **all** the _damn_ **_time_**.

  
**************

  
**_September 4th, 1943._ **

  
It's on the back of my neck,

  
It's on the front of it.

  
It's on my forehead,

  
It's down my back,

  
It's up my back,

  
It's in the middle of my back,

  
It's on my palms,

  
It's on my knuckles,

  
It's on my ears,

  
It's on my eyelids,

  
It's on my feet,

  
It's underneath my feet.

  
It's on my arms,

  
It's on my legs,

  
It's on my chest,

  
It's not stopping.

  
Make it stop.

 

I'll take anything...

 

The deep freeze,

 

The blistering hot,

 

The complete loss of my hearing,

  
The hunger,

  
The loss of my teeth,

  
The pain of my nails,

  
I'll take them all at once,

  
For all of eternity if I have to,

 

  
Just...

 

 _Someone_ ,

 

Mom,

Dad,

Bucky,

Peggy,

 

God,

  
_**Anyone**_ ,

  
Make the itching stop.

 

 ** _Please_**.

  
**************

  
**_September 5th, 1943._ **

  
Dear diary,

  
Is it normal for my skin to come off after it stops itching?

 

  
**************

  
**_September 7th, 1943._ **

 

Dear diary,

  
I finally did it,

  
My previous skin is all gone.

  
I understand now why it was acting this way:

  
It was _dying_.

  
And this morning, I finally shed what was left of my former self,

  
Of my former _human_ self.

  
Because right now, as I am staring into the mirror,

  
I don't see Steve Rogers,

  
With blonde hair,

  
Small ears

  
And freckles covering his skin.

  
No, right now...

 

I see Steve Rogers,

  
With no hair,

  
No ears

  
And green scales covering his skin.

  
I flick out my newly-forked tongue and I smile a sharp-toothy one,

  
I don't feel bad,

  
I don't feel sick.

  
Because I just _know_...

  
I'm finally how I'm meant to be.    


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ..."The molting of the skin occurs regularly in snakes. This is when old skin is outgrown. In the case of snakes, it is called shedding or ecdysis."


	8. Bucky

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peggy finally sees Steve and other people are finally located.

_**September 12th, 1943.** _

  
Dear diary,

  
Is this _really_ how I'm supposed to be?

  
I thought about it over and over the last couple of days and looking at myself over and over from very angle that I could, I just keep wondering...

 

What in the hell _was_ in that serum?

  
Did Dr. Erskine intended things to be this way?

  
And if this was what he'd wanted me to become, did he plan to do it to other people?

  
_Is_ he planning to do it to other people?

  
And if so... _why_?

  
To do... _what_?

  
Is this why he's been hiding from the world, from Peggy, from me?

  
Is this why he's been unreachable ever since the moment that invention of his started running through my veins?

  
Because who I thought was one of the most straight and narrow people in the world is actually...

  
_Not_?

  
*************

  
_**September 19th, 1943.** _

  
I finally let Peggy see me, after constantly turning her away.

  
I was already prepared for the shocked gasp when she opened my french cottage door and took a gander at my scaleful face,

  
And I was already prepared for when she'd eventually turn around and dash for the hills, like I expected her and everyone else who'd see me like this would all and up doing.

  
What I wasn't prepared for, however, after I told her everything, even my newfound craving for some fresh meat,

  
Was her _not_ running away,

  
Her hands in balls over hers hips,

  
The tapping of her shoe on the tiled floor,

  
And the oncoming punch she delivered to my arm.

  
_"Steven Grant Rogers, I cannot believe you!"_ she bellowed when she noticed my wincing expression. _"Did you really think that I would abandon you like that?"_

  
And all I could retort was really... _"Well, humn, djm...I mean..."_

  
_"Ooohhh and I'm not going to take **that** for an answer! Listen here buddy..."_ her pointing finger was scaring me and here I was, a six-foot, sharp-teeth abomination, so yeah... _really_ scary...

  
_"...I've seen some stupendous things in my life and if I've even began to recall them to you, you'd thought I'd finally lost the plot. So if you think for one second that that..."_

  
Again, her scary pointing finger was flailing around...

  
_"If you think that I'm gonna grab my tail and run because you look more like a fish now than a mammal, then you've got another thing coming! **AND ANOTHER THING.**..."_

  
And so I stood there, for about twenty minutes, as Peggy Carter lectured me about hiding away from place to place for almost two straight months when she or others could have helped (she was right), about judging people too quickly (again, she was right)

and, with a nod of the head, made me follow her out of the small house and into her car...

  
With the promise of a live chicken for dinner and some better accommodations to make myself less of a hermit and more of a resource.

  
***************

  
_**October 15th, 1943.** _

  
Something has happened to Bucky.

  
There was an attack a couple of days ago, in an Italian place called Azzano.

  
Soldiers were killed and some were captured...

  
And that includes Bucky.

  
I have to get out there,

  
I have to save him.

  
What if they do something bad to him,

  
What if they torture him?

 

What if they...

  
_Kill him_?

  
How could I survive in a world without him, when I'm having trouble surviving in the world when he's in it?

  
How could I live knowing that I've missed my chance to see him again and tell him...

  
Tell him...

  
Tell him _everything_?

  
**************

  
**_October 29th, 1943._ **

  
Dear diary,

  
Everything makes senses now.

  
Peggy arrived at our home-made base of operations with welcomed, but also startling news...

  
First, she found out where Bucky, along with a slew of fellow soldiers that were calling themselves the _"Howling Commandos"_ , were being held captive: inside a fortress near the Austrian border.

  
We've already began to make plans for me to sneak in there and rescue them all.

  
And second..

.  
She found out where Dr. Erskine has been all this time:

  
Working for the enemy.

  
There is this organization called Hydra, who was previously allied with the Nazis, but who've decided to branch out and do their own independent nefarious plans.

  
They are apparently after something called _"The Tesseract"_ , an object that if given to them would grant them unmeasurable power and some really bad news for our side of the grand conflict.

  
And, among it higher ranks, stands...

  
_**Abraham Erskine**_ ,

  
Innovator,

  
Doctor extraordinaire,

  
Flesh-craving, snake-like, super-soldiers species creator.

 

Because that's what he's intended to do,

What he's _always_ intended to do.

Duplicate what he's done to me to other people,

to other subjects...

 

Let them out to wreak havoc into the world, 

All of them under Hydra's supervision and control...

 

As god as my witness, I swear it,

  
when I find that son of a bitch...

  
I'm going to make him my very first human meal..


	9. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "For a sickness, love is the healthiest." -Euripides

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter everybody! Thanks to everyone who supported this little work of horror fiction. It really means the world to me.
> 
> Oh and Happy Halloween in advance! :D

_**November 5th, 1943.** _

  
Dear Bucky,

  
I'm _so_ sorry.

  
I should have been there earlier, to spare you this fate. To spare you of the suffering that you must have gone through.

  
And I thought my own luck had been bad when my transformation happened over several weeks...

  
But you? Going through everything that I went through in only twenty-four hours thanks to a more potent version of the serum that they gave me?

  
It must have been pure _hell_.

  
As you know, everyone got out safely. Your group of Howlies is safe. I located them all with the power of vibrations...

  
I mean sure, we're both deaf as bunch of door-nails now, but soon you'll see that that we can hear in other ways, see in other ways, smell in other ways...

  
And feel in other ways.

  
When I found you on that table, trembling with fear and cold, looking at your hands like they were the most abject things you ever laid your eyes on...

  
Everything that I wanted to say to you ever since you joined this damn war just fell out of my head.

  
As I removed my full-face mask (thank you Peggy) to show what had happened to you had also happened to me, to show that you had nothing to be ashamed of, that everything would be alright and you looked at me with your big, yellow, andslitted eyes and your scaly-cerulean face, I knew that the only thing I could give you at the moment was comfort...

  
And not _love_ , like I really wanted to.

  
Because I love you, James Buchanan Barnes.

 

I love you so much that I can't even say it properly.

  
You're the most amazing person I've ever met, inside and out.

  
You're also the most attractive being that I've ever landed my eyes upon, before and after all of this happened.

 

And you'll always be, believe me when I write this.

  
And I know it's going to be really difficult to adapt to all the changes that has happened to your psyche and to your body, so the only thing I can give you in return to maybe help you along the way is this journal.

  
Maybe, when you read it, you won't feel alone in what you're going through right now.

  
And maybe you'll accept my formal invitation for dinner as our first official date.

  
I have some grade-A Erskine meat waiting for us in the cellar. (Your nails can do wonders when it comes to acquiring meals, you'll see.)

  
Love, always,

  
Your best friend (and maybe someday more)

  
Steve

  
*************

  
**_Novermber 7th, 1943._ **

  
Dear Steve, (I'm writing this just like you taught me, with my nails feeling like feather pens.)

  
I'm _so_ sorry too.

  
If I had known everything that I know now, I would have waited before getting shipped. I would have prevented you from getting that stupid experiment and most of all, I would have kept you safe and away from all the agony that you went through.  
But seeing you now after that I just read, resilient as always in the face of all these changes inside and outside of yourself, makes me love you even more than before.

  
Because yes, Steve Grant Rogers, I love you too.

  
And I will gladly go on that first official date with you.

  
Let's see if human meat is as delicious as I've envisioned it to be.

  
Always yours,

  
And more than a best friend,

  
Bucky.

  
***************

  
_**Sometimes in 2012.** _

  
"So, I'm in the middle of Nowhere, France right now, searching and searching for what feels like months right now. I'm at the entrance of a cave just below one of the Alps mountains and I _think_ I'm about to hit the jackpot.

  
There is this legend, right? About an experiment done in the 1940's to two guys from World War 2 to make them into some kind of super-soldiers.

  
Only the thing was, the man that invented the super-soldier serum was working for the bad guys and, along with all the super stuff that the operation promised and ended up delivering, it also transformed them into some kind of reptiled flesh-eating freaks.

Apparently Hydra, that's the faction that was behind it all, wanted to create a whole damn species out of what these two had become, but thankfully we never really got that particular nightmarish scenario, since the mastermind behind the formula that made them like that was never seen again.

  
Those two World War 2 boys were never as satiated as when _that_ happened.

 

At least, that's what the old tale says.

  
So no, right now I'm not searching for the super-soldiers formula, I don't really give a damn about that.

  
No, what I'm searching for right now are those World War 2 boys.

  
You see, I heard that they became masters at hunting and killing, right? Counting dozens, maybe hundreds of Hydra people under their combined belts (or should I say, inside their combined bellies) alone in the two years following their metamorphosis and the team of super-enhanced people (and creatures) that I've been building up for a while now could really use their skills and their help.

  
But the thing is, there was an incident, involving a train and the Alps just before the war ended...

  
And, just like a big part of Hydra, Steve Rogers and James Buchanan Barnes haven't been seen for the better part of 70 years.

  
So, using all of my resources and all of my cash, I, Tony Stark, am going to find these two and give them the proposal of a lifetime.

  
Well, here we go...the chance to strike richer than ever before...

 

  
...Maybe.

  
...

  
...

  
...

  
...

  
Hello?"

  
...

  
...

  
...

  
_"...Who are you?"_

  
_"_ Tony Stark, inventor and billionaire extraordinaire!"

  
**"...Hmmm, who's that Steve?"**

  
_"Ah, look what you did! You just woke up Bucky! I sure damn hope that you're happy with yourself!"_

  
"Well, since you two have been hibernating in here for the last seventy years and in each other's arms on top of that, maybe it _is_ finally time for you and him to wake up!"

  
**"Hey, be more polite! You're talking to Captain America here! And what do you mean 70 years? Where are we? And why are _you_  here?"**

  
_"Yeah, why is someone that has the same last name as our old buddy Howard standing up in front of us like that?"_

  
"Ah, boys! Do I have a story and an offer to tell you about..."

**Author's Note:**

> ETA: I changed the publication date so that it'd be read on its purposed Holiday. :)


End file.
